Jerry sounded like the words were being pulled out of him with pincers. “Frankie was asking for more,” he said, “that’s what I hear. More money. And when Sal said no, he threatened to walk. Pictures or no pictures. Said he’d take what he knew to the cops. If he went down, he’d take Sal with him.”
“And why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” Jerry said.
“Goddamn Frankie,” Barrone whispered. “Never listened. Never knew how to keep his mouth shut.” He waved the gun at Charley. “You. Take that gun out of your pocket, slide it over here. Yes, I can see it, I’m not blind. You, too, sister. I’m keeping them and we’re going for a little ride.” Tricia and Charley reluctantly handed over the guns they’d gone to such trouble to obtain.
“You,” Barrone said to Jerry, as he packed the photos back into the box one-handed. “If you ever lie to me again—no, listen. If you ever lie to me again, or hold out on me, I’m going to kill you. Do we understand each other? Right through the head, with this gun here, I’m going to shoot you. If you lie to me. Is that okay with you, Jerry? Yeah?” Jerry was nodding wildly. Yes, absolutely, Mr. B, shoot me, that’s fine.
Barrone dropped the box of photos into his jacket pocket.
“You’re lucky that they’re not spies for Sal, because if they were I’d have to kill all three of you. You’re no use to me, Jerry, if Sal knows about you.”
“He doesn’t,” Jerry said. “I’d never tell no one. Only people know are you, me...and now them, I guess.”
“Oh, we’d never tell anyone either,” Charley said, and Tricia shook her head in agreement. “Why would we? You want it in writing, we’ll—”
“Get up,” Barrone said. He grabbed their guns, waved them toward the door.
Charley and Tricia got up. She glanced back at Jerry, who had a half-apologetic look on his face. Sorry, it said, but better you than me.
Outside, there was a long black limo waiting at the curb.
“Open the door.”
Charley complied.
“Now get in.”
They climbed into the car, found seats along what seemed to be a six-foot-long banquette while Barrone climbed in after them, sat on the shorter crosswise seat at the end. He slammed the door shut. “Eddie,” he called, “take us to Fulton Street.” The car started up.
“Now,” Barrone said, “let’s hear what you know about my brother-in-law.”
28.
Lucky At Cards
It didn’t take long, since Charley didn’t know much and Tricia had decided she’d be a better listener than Frankie and keep her mouth shut.
“You’ve seen the book, right?” Charley said. “Well, that’s what I know. Nothing more, nothing less, just what I read in there.”
“You working with the cops?” Barrone said.
“Pfff.” Charley blew a half-hearted raspberry. “Only if by ‘working with’ you mean ‘wanted for assault and battery by.’ There are two cops wearing bandages because of me, and that’s just the past day’s worth. I have a police record going back to 1950.”
“He does,” Tricia said. “I saw the mug shot.”
“Oh, a mug shot,” Barrone said. “You must be some sort of big-time criminal.”
“I wouldn’t say big time,” Charley said. “But then I wouldn’t say criminal either. I’d just say the cops don’t see the merit in everything I do.”
“Well, that’s the cops for you,” Barrone said. He rotated his gun to point at Tricia. “And you’re Colleen’s sister?” She nodded hopefully. “You know your sister’s been squeezing me for months now?”
Tricia’s face fell. “Squeezing?”
“First she wanted the car,” Barrone said. “Then it was money. Then it was introductions to people I know in the fight business. Or else.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing, and she meant every word.”
“I think you’re wrong, Mr. Barrone. My sister’s a good person. She’s not some sort of...blackmailer.”
“Some sort of blackmailer is exactly what she is.” The gun rotated back to Charley. “And you. Did you really take Sal at Fifty-to-One?”
“We played a hand,” Charley said. “I got lucky.”
“I don’t buy that. No one gets lucky at Fifty-to-One.”
“One in fifty people should,” Charley said. “If you think about it.”
“You don’t leave something like that to luck,” Barrone said, “not when your life’s at stake. If you beat him at his game, you had a way to beat him. What’s the trick?”
“No trick,” Charley said.
“What’s the goddamn trick?”
“No trick,” Charley insisted.
“My son,” Barrone said, “hasn’t been seen for a month. Now I find out he’s dead. The man who killed him likes playing an insane little game with his enemies that I’ve never heard of anyone surviving—except you. The way things are going, I may find myself playing that game before too much longer, and if there’s a way to beat it, I want to know what it is.” As he spoke, Barrone dug into a little well in the armrest beside him, dropped one item after another on the seat—a balled-up handkerchief, a couple of cellophane-wrapped hard candies, a corkscrew. Finally he came up with a pack of cards. “Now show me how the hell you did it,” he said.
“I wish I could,” Charley said. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier. But I can’t.”
“How about this,” Barrone said, flicking the top card off the pack with his thumb. It landed on the seat next to him. Four of clubs. “Tell me what the next card is or I’ll blow your girlfriend’s brains out.”
Tricia blanched as Barrone’s gun swung toward her once more. The barrel gaped between her eyes. Such a big opening for such a small fistful of metal. She wanted to run, but where? She couldn’t even make it to the door, never mind through it, before he could pull the trigger.
“Her?” Charley said, affecting a desperate little laugh. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just some girl who came to audition today. We’re casting for the new Comden and Green revue—”
“—and you take all the girls who come in for auditions to the toilet for a little fun.”
“Absolutely. Every one I can,” Charley said. “Wouldn’t you? Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s me.”
“Nice try,” Barrone said. “But I saw her face when you kissed her. I see your face now. She’s not just ‘some girl’ to you.” He cocked the gun. “So I say again, name the next card, or I’ll ventilate her.”
“Charley!” Tricia said.
“All right,” Charley said. “All right. I’ll tell you. The cards we were playing with were marked—a mechanic’s deck. I had them on me when Nicolazzo grabbed me. I was just lucky he used my cards instead of a deck of his own. That’s the big secret. Now leave her alone. Shoot me if you’ve got to shoot somebody.”
“Okay,” Barrone said, swinging his gun around.
“No, wait, wait—I said ‘if.’ If you have to shoot somebody.” Charley put up his hands as though they might repel bullets. “But why would you have to shoot anybody? Least of all us. You could get life for that, if they didn’t put you in the chair. We’re not worth it.”
“That’s a point,” Barrone said.
“We’re not even worth the stain on the upholstery,” Charley said.
“That’s a point, too,” Barrone said.
“We’re not even worth the bullets it would take,” Charley said.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Barrone said. “You’re worth the bullets.”